


cute, with an emphasis on the “tea”

by queenhomeslice



Series: I Wanna Ride My Chocoboy All Day: Prompto/Reader Stories [31]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Antique Shopping, Chubby Reader, Confessions of love, Curvy Reader, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, asking someone out, fat reader, plus size reader, tea cups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 13:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30106596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: You decide to use a tea cup as a catalyst to finally confess to Prompto how you feel. You know, as one does.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Reader
Series: I Wanna Ride My Chocoboy All Day: Prompto/Reader Stories [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554340
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	cute, with an emphasis on the “tea”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way. 
> 
> _______  
> I've been trying to write this for three days, I'm sorry if it sucks

“Oh hell yeah, an antique store!” Prompto shouts, pulling you along by the wrist along the crowded sidewalk. 

“Oof--Prom—wait up!” you laugh breathlessly, feeling a little warm at the careless brush of his fingers on your skin. Your chipper best friend pulls you along behind him until the two of you are in front of an old vintage storefront. The letters at the top of building seem several decades old, and if the shop name of _Vintage Market Treasures_ doesn’t give you a clue, the antique clothes and toys displayed in the bay window certainly do. 

“Is this a new store?” you wonder, still feeling a bit tingly. Prompto hasn’t let go of your wrist, and you’re loath to have him pull away. You’ve both been best friends for a while now, but the two of you seem to be masters of dancing, and not the kind that Noct is forced to do at royal galas. The reasonable conclusion would be that Prompto simply doesn’t like you in that way—however, sometimes Prompto says things that make you think that he _could_ be into you as more than a friend. You wonder what’s keeping him from asking you out. 

“Oh, I think it is?” Prompto’s reply pulls you from your internal monologue. 

The two of you are on the outskirts of Insomnia, far from the city center in a quiet, residential area. It’s Saturday afternoon, though—and the two of you aren’t the only ones out doing some window shopping. 

“It looks cool, so let’s check it out! Maybe I’ll find some sweet vintage chocobo stuff.” Prompto’s eyes twinkle with a faraway dreamy look, and his pretty freckled cheeks blush soft pink when he looks down at you. It’s just now that he’s realizing that his slender fingers are still gripping your wrist. His bright blue eyes grow wide and he jumps away, his ears growing red as a tomato. “Um, uh,” he fumbles. “So-sorry.” 

You laugh it off. “Dude, it’s okay.” You reach up to squeeze his shoulder, patting him affectionately. “Let’s go inside.” 

The slender blond collects himself. “Yeah, uh. Yeah. Inside!” 

The small antique store is jam-packed to the brim with just about any and every antique that someone could ever want—clothes, toys, jewelry, electronics, books, comics, art, furniture, collectibles, tools...Prompto is having a _field day_. His Crownsguard stipend just hit; and after putting most of it in savings and paying his cell phone bill and a few subscription services, he’s got a little money to burn, and he’s always on the hunt for quirky and unique chocobo stuff. 

“Ooooh, Prom, look at this!” You wander over to a large shelf full of old cameras, picking up one after the other, looking at the worn edges and the old, bulky shapes. You feel Prompto come up behind you, and you unconsciously shiver at his body heat. 

“Bro no _way_ ,” he breathes reverently. “This is a vintage Ansco thirty-five millimeter! You don’t _see_ these anymore! Not even on like, eBay!” He plucks it from the shelf above you. 

You turn, always in the mood to watch his face light up over something he loves. He cradles the camera like he’s just found a winning lottery ticket. He turns it over in his hands, pretty mouth falling open when he sees the white sticker on the bottom. His eyes flick back to you. 

“Yeah?” you say, hopeful. “You gonna get it?” 

“It’s ten dollars,” he says. “Ten dollars?! Are you kidding?!” 

You laugh. “That’s a _yes_ , then, Mister Bargain Hunter?” 

“Dude, this is the best day _ever_ ,” he says. He looks over the rest of the cameras, finally turning, content with his one treasure. “Come with me over here. They had some pretty cool tea cups and stuff. Iggy’s birthday is in a couple of months, I was thinking...” 

“That’s a good idea, Prompto,” you say, nodding as you follow him to the back of the shop. “A vintage tea set would totally be up Iggy’s alley. We could go halvsies on a pot and a couple of cups and saucers.” 

As the two of you comb through old teapots, cream and sugar sets, teacups, and saucers, you start to find that some of these antique cups have quite the sense of humor. Behind the prettier, more floral ones are porcelain sarcastic treasures—perfect for Ignis Scientia. 

“Oh,” Prompto says, gorgeous grin splitting his face in half. “Bro, look at this one. It says _There is poison in this_ on the bottom! So when you finish your drink...” He makes a dramatic gagging sound, grabbing his throat and sinking to his knees. 

“That’s perfect,” you say with a giggle, face heating up at his goofy display of mock dying. “Are there multiples of it?” 

Prompto hops back to his feet, leaning up on his tip-toes to see behind the first row of teacups. “Oh, yeah! There are three more like it! It’s a whole set!” 

“Jackpot,” you reply, holding out the cracked plastic shopping basket. “How much for all of them?” 

“The sticker on this one says _Poison cup, set of four, fifteen dollars_.” 

“I’ll get the cups, then. You can get a pot, and the sugar and creamer set.” 

Prompto just waggles his eyebrows as he carefully lifts the cups from the back of the shelf and places them in the basket on your arm. 

You get sucked into your own world, looking at another teacup display across from the shelf where Prompto is picking out the rest of Iggy’s birthday gifts. The endless rows of vintage florals are just a front for what’s really going on in your head—how to advance your relationship with Prompto into something more than friends. With a quiet sigh, you pick up yet another tea cup, turning it over in your hands carefully as you try not to jostle the basket hooked around your elbow. 

It’s a foggy, light blue milk glass, with a small white and gray paisley pattern etched around the outside. It’s only three bucks, and you don’t see anything else remotely resembling a set, so you shrug and think _Why not?_ But something on the inside of the tea cup catches your eye as you set it down into the basket—printed on the bottom, in pretty white script, are the words _I_ _like you._

“Hey, _________! I think I found some good matches to the poison cups,” Prompto says, without even looking your way. 

You look up at him, slim profile poised in front of the old shelf full of tea sets. You turn the teacup over in the basket to face bottom up, and hurriedly shuffle the old superhero comics from the bottom of your basket on top of all five cups. 

A plan is taking shape in your mind...all you have to do is execute it. 

_________

The knock comes ten minutes early, just as your coffee maker is sputtering and gurgling, the last drips of coffee dropping through the filter and into the pot below. It’s almost eleven am, and you’ve been planning this brunch for more than a week, going over a hundred different scenarios in your head. Somehow, you’d managed to sneak the _I like_ _you_ teacup from the antique store past Prompto that day—you're grateful that the blond is easily distracted. He'd seen a huge chocobo plushie right near the checkout counter right as the elderly owner was punching the price of the teacup into his register. By the time Prompto had wandered back over to you, bright yellow bird in hand, the cup was already wrapped in brown paper and sitting in a sack with one of the cups for Ignis. 

You quickly scoop up the ham and cheese omelet from the skillet, killing the burner and plating the food before making your way to the front door. 

“Dude, it smells amazeballs in here!” Prompto is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, still dressed in an athletic tank and coeurl-print compression leggings. 

You can’t help but drag your eyes over his slender form. “You did your morning run, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Prompto laughs, stepping over the threshold and kicking off his sneakers. “I mistimed my run and was actually in the neighborhood forty-five minutes ago, so I’ve just run circles up until now.” He turns and shuts the door behind him. “I’m beat. Can’t wait to eat your fabulous cooking!” he sings, brushing past you to head to your small two-seater table. “You’re just as good as Iggy.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” you hum modestly, following him while shamelessly checking out his pert rear in the leggings. “I mean, I’m a good cook, but Ignis could easily be a chef at a five-star restaurant.” 

“It’s a good thing I get all his food for free, then,” Prompto laughs as he plops into one of the chairs. The table is already set with waffles, syrup, a fruit salad, chocolate milk, and orange juice. 

You move to the counter to get the omelets you’d prepared, handing them to Prompto. He sets yours down across the table, followed by his own, pretty blue eyes growing wide at the steaming egg dish. 

“Oh man, I’m so ready for this,” he sighs in satisfaction. Then, under his breath, “It’s so nice to have a girl cook for you...” 

Blushing, you grab the two teacups by the coffee maker. Obviously he didn’t intend for you to hear it, so you don’t plan on addressing it—he'll know soon enough how you feel about him. “Coffee?” you ask, steadying your voice despite your fluttering heart. 

“Oh, uh, sure!” 

You turn, noticing that he hasn’t eaten yet. “I thought you were hungry?” 

“Well, I was waiting for you,” he says, cheeks growing light pink. 

Gods, he’s so beautiful. You seriously hope this plan doesn’t backfire in your face. “Milk or sugar?” 

“Nah, just black.” 

“I thought we could use some fancy tea cups today,” you say. The tea cup that you’re planning to use is one that a dear friend got for you on their trip to Tenebrae several years ago, a pretty gold and green floral pattern with a matching saucer. 

“I’m sensing a theme,” laughs Prompto. “There’s not a law that says you can only put tea in tea cups?” 

“I will fight for my right to put coffee in whatever I want,” you tease back, hand trembling slightly as the words _I like you_ disappear behind steaming black-brown liquid that’s flowing from the glass pot. Placing the cup on a small ceramic dessert plate, you manage to cross the kitchen floor and hand Prompto the coffee without tripping over yourself. At least that’s a win. 

When you’re finally seated with your own fancy cup of coffee, Prompto gives himself the green light to dig into the omelet and waffles. Aside from his praises about how good brunch is, the meal is mostly quiet. He doesn’t seem to notice you eating more slowly than usual. Your heart is practically pounding out of your chest, breath fluctuating in a stuttered rhythm. He blows several times on his coffee in between sips, so the ticking of the clock counting down the minutes until he sips the last of the Ebony Blonde Roast is very near to torture. 

Prompto smacks his lips as he swallows the last of the blueberry waffle, lifting the tea cup to his lips. You’ve been subtly watching as the coffee in Prompto’s cup dips lower and lower beneath the brim, and suddenly you can’t breathe as you realize that this is probably one of, if not _the_ last sip. He lifts the cup to his lips, drinks, and then lowers it slowly, blinking silently as he looks into the tea cup. 

You lower your fork, gulping around the lump of egg that glides down your esophagus. You exhale slowly. 

“I didn’t know you had tea cups with words in them, too.” Prompto looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, slightly blushing. He tilts his head. 

You clear your throat. “Well not cups, plural. Uh. Just...just that one.” 

Prompto just hums. He holds the still-warm tea cup in his hands, slender finger rubbing the brim. “Am I...am I reading this wrong?” he asks quietly. 

You lean forward on the table. “No.” 

Prompto chokes, suddenly struggling for breath. He looks up again, facing you fully. “This tea cup...does it mean something?” 

You nod. 

“Oh...okay.” He looks back down at it again—and now, you can see the quiet tears falling down his rapidly-reddening cheeks. “I’m so—I'm so stupid,” he mutters to himself. 

“You’re not stupid.” 

“I should’ve asked you first. The guy...the guy is supposed to ask first.” 

“But what if the girl was tired of waiting,” you reply, pushing your unfinished brunch to the side. “Prompto...” 

“I do,” he says, licking his lips and placing the tea cup gently back on the white dessert plate. “I do like you. A lot. A _lot_ a lot.” 

You can’t help but smile, feeling your own emotions creep out through your eyes. “Yeah?” you croak. 

“Yeah,” says Prompto, rising. 

You stand up to meet him, and he grabs your hand and pulls you close, wrapping his strong arms around your curvy body. Your hands fly to his back, rubbing soft circles into his athletic tank. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, hopeful. 

You stare up at him and grin. “Of course.” 

The press of his mouth against yours is terrifyingly gentle at first; you gasp softly, and he grows braver, swiping his tongue around inside, pressing more firmly against you. Prompto swallows down all of your whimpers and moans, clutching at your back desperately. 

“Shit,” he says, pulling away finally, keeping his face close to yours. “Shit, I’m...” He bites his lip and turns his head, embarrassed. 

“What?” you ask softly. 

“’M hard,” he grunts. “Been wanting to do that for so long...I...I’m sorry...I should go...” 

How you manage to stay on two feet is a goddamn miracle. Your mouth moves before you realize what words come cascading out. “Why don’t we _go_ to my bedroom?” 

The deep noise of want that spills from Prompto’s lips is all the affirmation you need before you grab his wrist and pull him down the hallway. 


End file.
